Qiu Yingying is reborn and bound to a learning system.

Meng Yanchen sat leaning against the headboard for a long time until the light outside the window was completely bright and the shadows in the room gradually faded away before he slowly got up.

He went into the bathroom, turned on the cold tap, and splashed a handful of water on his face. The icy touch cleared his muddled mind a bit. The man reflected in the mirror was still pale, with a hint of weariness in his eyes, and the teeth marks on his Adam's apple were glaringly red, as if silently mocking his loss of control last night.

Wiping the water off my face, my fingertips traced the red mark on my throat, and the lingering sensation seemed to instantly pull me back to the chaos of last night.

The loss of control fueled by alcohol shattered his thirty years of unwavering restraint, and the emotions that had been bound by layers of responsibility, rules, and identity were momentarily unleashed. What startled him even more was that in that complete loss of control, he actually caught a glimpse of lightness he had never felt before—a sense of freedom that was almost unrestrained, as if he had broken free from all constraints.

This realization sent chills down his spine.

Meng Yanchen has always been a rule-maker and a rule-abiding citizen, taking every step in life with a steady and solid approach, his sense of propriety ingrained in his very being. From family responsibilities to workplace duties, from interpersonal interactions to self-discipline, he is like a precisely operating gear, never deviating in the slightest.

But last night, just a glass of wine laced with drugs and an unexpected encounter touched him. He was a businessman who always considered profits. What was even more absurd was that in the chaos and disarray brought about by that loss of control, he actually tasted the flavor of freedom.

Absurd, utterly absurd.

He looked in the mirror, a faint, self-deprecating smile curving his lips. For the first time in over thirty years, he had broken his own rules, let his emotions run wild, and instead of the expected fear and self-reproach, he felt a moment of relief and freedom. This realization was like a fine thorn, pricking his heart, both unfamiliar and inexplicably unsettling.

"Ridiculous," he muttered to himself, his voice trembling slightly.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a few seconds, his gaze gradually becoming calm and resolute.

"Meng Yanchen," he said softly, as if reminding himself, "you cannot run away."

He dried his face, picked up his phone, and found the contact information for the designated driver from the previous night. It was a designated driver company he often used, and the driver's number was still saved in his call log.

He pressed the dial button, and the call was answered quickly.

"Hello, Mr. Meng?" The driver's voice was a little hoarse from just waking up.

"It was me." Meng Yanchen's voice was as steady as ever, revealing no emotional fluctuation. "You were the one who took me home last night, weren't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Meng, it's me," the driver quickly replied. "What's wrong? Did you leave something in the car?"

"No." Meng Yanchen paused, his tone still calm. "I want to ask, when I got into the car last night, was there another lady with me?"

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, as if someone was recalling something.

"It seems... there was one," the driver said uncertainly. "I asked you if you were together, and you nodded at me. She was sitting next to you. It was late, and there were a lot of cars on the road. I was focused on driving and didn't pay much attention to whether you were talking."

Meng Yanchen's fingers tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white. "Do you remember what she looked like? Even just her general features will do."

"Well..." the driver hesitated, "I really don't remember very well. I only remember that she had curly hair, I think it was brown, and it was shoulder-length. She was wearing a light-colored dress, and she wasn't very tall, but quite thin. In short, you two were a perfect match, a handsome man and a beautiful woman. That's all... I can't remember."

Curly, brown hair...

The blurry figure from last night flashed through Meng Yanchen's mind, and his heart clenched.

"Did she get off the bus with me?" he continued to ask.

"Yes," the driver said affirmatively. "You two got out of the car together. You two seemed to know each other well. You helped each other out of the car. You both didn't seem to be feeling well at the time, probably because you had drunk too much. You were walking a little slowly."

"I understand," Meng Yanchen said calmly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Mr. Meng." The driver paused, then asked cautiously, "That lady... isn't she your friend? Is she alright?"

"She's fine," Meng Yanchen said calmly. "There are just a few things that need to be confirmed. Thank you for your help."

He hung up the phone, leaned against the sink, and closed his eyes.

Curly brown hair, light-colored dress, very pretty...

These features slowly pieced together a vague outline in his mind, gradually overlapping with the soft figure in his memory from last night.

He opened his eyes, his gaze becoming even more resolute.

These alone are not enough; he needs more specific clues.

He changed into clean loungewear and walked out of the bedroom. The living room was still quiet; the woman's shawl was still draped over the chair, the perfume scent much fainter, but a hint of sweetness could still be detected.

He walked to the chair, picked up the shawl, and gently stroked the soft fabric with his fingertips.

This is a very good quality cashmere shawl, in a light beige color, with small floral patterns embroidered along the edges. It doesn't look like a cheap, cheap item from a street stall.

He walked to the entryway and picked up the small hair clip. It was a very ordinary pearl hair clip, studded with a few small diamonds, simple in design but exquisite.

These things might be clues to finding her.

Meng Yanchen picked up his phone and dialed another number.

"Hello, it's me." After the call connected, he said calmly, "Could you check the surveillance footage from the underground parking lot last night, especially the time when I got into the car?"

The person on the other end of the phone was clearly surprised, but immediately replied, "Okay, Mr. Meng, I'll arrange it for you right away."

"Don't alert anyone else," Meng Yanchen added. "Once you find it, send the video to my private email."

"clear."

After hanging up the phone, Meng Yanchen sat on the sofa, his fingers gently tapping his knees.

He rarely did such a thing, using his connections to investigate a complete stranger; this would have been absolutely unthinkable in the past.

But now, he has no other choice.

He must find her.

It wasn't for anything else, but simply for the sense of responsibility he had buried deep in his heart.

About half an hour later, his phone notified him of a new email.

He opened his email; inside was a compressed file. He downloaded it, unzipped it, and opened the video.

The image is somewhat dark, but still relatively clear.

In the video, he walks step by step toward the designated driver. His steps are unsteady, and his face is pale, clearly indicating that he is somewhat disoriented.

Then, a woman's figure appeared in the picture.

She was wearing a light-colored dress and had brown hair; she would surely be a beautiful fairy in the jungle.

Her steps were a little unsteady, but she was sweet and charming. She looked at her phone while trying to walk forward. Her face was flushed from drinking, her eyes were hazy, and although she appeared sober, she had a stubborn seriousness about her.

is her.

Meng Yanchen's breathing stopped instantly.

His gaze was fixed on the woman's face; although the image was somewhat blurry, he could still clearly see her features.

Her face was small with a pointed chin, and her eyes were large, carrying a touch of innocent childishness. Her nose wasn't particularly high, but it was delicate, and her lips were a natural pink, slightly pursed at the moment, as if she were trying to stay awake.

Her appearance... is sweet, yet there's an indescribable cuteness about her. I feel like I've seen her somewhere before, but I can't quite place her.

Meng Yanchen's heart inexplicably quickened, as if the heroine from a book he read in his youth had come to life.

He watched her in the video, watching them both nod blankly to the driver, and helplessly adjusted his glasses.

Suddenly, the soft touch of her against his chest last night flashed through his mind, along with her sweet, gentle voice.

His Adam's apple bobbed involuntarily.

He rewound the video and watched it again.

This time, he looked even more carefully, not even missing the slightest detail of the pressure she applied with her fingers as she supported him.

He remembered what she looked like.

He had seen her before, at a Western restaurant, while he was dining with friends, and witnessed her quirky antics ruining Andy's date. At the time, he thought, "How can there be such an energetic and eccentric girl?"

It is deeply etched in my mind.

He turned off the video, leaned back on the sofa, and closed his eyes.

And that face, with a touch of sweetness and stubbornness.

He silently said to himself, "I will find you."

He will find her, little by little, in his own way.

Then, say it to her face to face.

Sorry.

And... take responsibility or provide compensation.

He picked up his phone and sent a message to the person who had helped him check the surveillance footage.

【Thanks for your hard work.】

He then opened the other person's WeChat and skillfully sent a transfer. The amount wasn't small, but it wasn't excessive either; it was just a suitable expression of his gratitude. It was someone who did things for him outside of work hours, and everyone has their difficulties. He had occasionally heard that Guokun's employees were reluctant to take taxis to save money, so he felt he had to compensate others for the trouble he had caused them.

This is his habit.

He doesn't like owing favors, and even if the other party has only done what is expected of them, he will express his gratitude in his own way.

After sending the red envelope, he put down his phone, leaned back on the sofa, and closed his eyes.

But all I could think about was that woman.

He didn't have much romantic experience. His relationship with Xu Qin wasn't really formal; it was just a budding romance, but he had to suppress his feelings because of his family's opposition. Suppression became a habit, and he gradually couldn't distinguish whether it was love or the feelings of mutual resistance against his family that came from long-term companionship.

He was like an ugly worm trapped in a cocoon, never free, never able to become a butterfly. But whether he was trapped in a cage or had woven his own cocoon, this repressive sense of boundary was impossible to define.

He had his responsibilities, so he could only watch her soar into her abyss. He couldn't choose to offer his blessings, not because of the depth of his feelings, but because he knew how difficult it was to go from luxury to frugality. As her brother, he disliked Song Yan, simply because he felt that Song Yan was irresponsible and unreliable. He couldn't bring himself to lower his sister's quality of life to cater to a dramatic love.

The Meng family tried their best to stop her, but that was all they could do. Wang Baochuan's parents were prime ministers; what good would it do to stop her? She still insisted on digging for wild vegetables. Countless lessons from our ancestors tell us that people won't turn back until they hit a wall.